


bergamot dreams

by Wallissa



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Complicated Relationships, Degradation, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Bondage, M/M, Mentions of drugging, Name-Calling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Slut Shaming, Submissive Tommy Shelby, Tommy as a Damsel in Distress, it's mild but proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa
Summary: Someone who’s out to teach Tommy a lesson of some sort decides to utilise his weaknesses against him. Alfie gets an unexpected, but very sweet present in return.(shoe polish smeared on satin sheets, delicate chains wrapped around a pale throat, a last trace of bergamot and aldehydes clinging to flushed skin)
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	bergamot dreams

Tommy Shelby is known for a number of things, but most notably for his whoring and his greed. It’s so well known, in fact, that Alfie isn’t exactly surprised that someone would think to utilise one of those things against him at some point. However, he wouldn’t have expected that Tommy’s downfall would be brought on by a combination of _both_ of those factors. 

He also wouldn’t have expected that it would concern _him_ in any way. But well, here they are. 

“Personally, I think this would be a good way of closing deals. Just, you know, for future reference. Would certainly convince me.”

Tommy gives him a very cold look, but considering the fact that wearing a rose-coloured silk gag, there isn’t much bite to it. It adds to the look, if anything. 

Alfie tuts, locking the door behind himself. “Love, is that a way to be glaring at your saviour?”

See, people don’t really think all that much of the Shelby-Solomons partnership. Alfie can’t exactly blame them for that one, what with the shooting and the mutual betrayal and all that nonsense. 

But those people have never seen Tommy at 10pm on a Tuesdays during a bad week. Taking off his glasses to drowsily rest his forehead against Alfie’s shoulder, making his annoyed little kitten sounds until Alfie wraps his arm around him and kisses the frown from his pretty mouth. 

If the filth out there would’ve seen that, they probably wouldn’t have sent Alfie of all people this little present. Luckily for Tommy, most people he works with – and eventually fucks over, since those things seem to go hand in hand - are absolute idiots.

And thus, Alfie is graced with a sight of Tommy Shelby, well and truly bested. A mess of pink cheeks and a pink chest, shirt half unbuttoned and undershirt pushed up over his tits, hair tousled and inelegantly sprawled on a nice, big bed in one of the better hotels of the area. Trussed up and gagged. 

His arms are tied behind his back - not the wrists, mind you, but his arms, in some BDSM mess, a web of delicate golden chains that starts at his wrist, wraps its way up to his shoulders and ends around his throat where it rests like a glittering choker. Ebony, gold, milk.  
Then there’s the silk gag, which contrasts nicely with Tommy’s complexion, the rosy flush spilling down his front, the blue of his eyes. Rose petals are scattered on rumpled, cream-coloured sheets. It’s so pretty Alfie could die of laughter, honestly. 

“So.” He takes his time looking him up and down as he walks over to the bed, Tommy’s eyes following him as he approaches. “Let me just _guess_ –“ he rounds a cart with drinks that stands halfway between the door and the bed – “let me guess what happened here, Love.” 

Due to his bound stage, Tommy can’t really sit up, but he makes an attempt to find his balance, gleaming shoes leaving streaks of black grease on satin-shimmery sheets.  
Alfie tuts and puts a hand on his ankle, stilling him. “Don’t make a mess, yeah?” He brushes the pad of his thumb over Tommy’s ankle. “Now, what I assume happened is that some pretty lady, yeah?, That some pretty lady came up to you with her Chanel and Dior and all that nonsense, right, just the way you like, and told you that she’d like to fuck you.” 

He pauses, as if Tommy would open his mouth to confirm it. He wouldn’t, even if he weren’t gagged, but he gives Alfie an icy look and has the decency to flush a little more. It’s terribly sweet, really. 

Alfie nods and continues talking, his tone light and friendly. “Yes. So. You, like the absolute dumb-fuck fucking whore that you are, follow this lady up here, right? And you let her pour you fucking drinks, you braindead little rat, and you swallow those down, and then when she starts palming your cock and purrs that she wants to tie you up, right, when she says she wants to tie you up, you say _yes_.”

Tommy tilts his head a little, looking off to the side, but Alfie takes hold of his chin and tilts it right back, holding it in place. But despite it all, of course, he keeps his voice nice and calm, since Tommy obviously has been shamed enough for one night. “You dumb little slut let yourself be tied up by a woman you don’t even fucking know. Isn’t that right?” 

And now, at those words, there’s a little flicker in Tommy’s eyes that Alfie knows all too well. A little spark of heat that tells him that whatever lesson this could’ve been, Tommy didn’t learn it. He huffs as if Tommy batting his lashes at him was a great fucking chore, then let’s go of his chin. Greed and whoring. “Alright, fine. Let’s see how we’ll get you out of this, then.”

Of course there would be more elegant ways to get at the golden chains around Tommy’s arms, but Alfie isn’t particularly interested in finding one. He simply sits down, satin sheets rustling, and grabs Tommy around his trim waist to pull him into his lap. It’s convenient, it’s effective. It brings them closer, which is nice. He was promised a present, after all.

Would it be helpful to somehow turn Tommy on his front to really take a look at the construction holding him in place? Probably. However, this way around, Alfie can look down the unbuttoned front of Tommy’s shirt, which is awfully convenient.

The undershirt partly obstructs the view of his chest, but Alfie can make out the pink-hard outline of his nipples brushing against the bunched-up fabric, which is a terribly sweet sight. There are traces of lipstick from his throat to his chest, and there’s a hint of a heavy, citrus-sharp perfume sticking to his skin.

“That _is_ Chanel, isn’t it? They really knew how to get you, you pretentious slut. Here, hold still.”

Tommy does, looking patient and a little dazed, warm and heavy on Alfie’s lap. Reaching behind him to untie the gag isn’t difficult, and Tommy licks his shiny-red lips. “Thank you.” His voice has that rough-soft quality that comes with a good glass of rum and a good round of fucking. Alfie supposes it’s a mix of both, in this case. And, well. A fucking drug induced stupor, most likely. One would really assume Tommy Shelby of all people would know better.

Alfie thoughtlessly squeezes his thigh, warm and familiar against his palm, and drops the gag. “You’re welcome. We’re talking about this later.”

Tommy nods, then nods again. He rolls his shoulders back, his thighs tightening around Alfie to keep his balance. “Sure.”

Here, they both pause, looking at each other. Tommy with his glittering eyes and his slick mouth, dark lashes. A hint of teeth on his lower lip and the soft-rough hum in the back of his throat. 

“You know, that’s probably not what they had in mind, Love. They probably imagined I’d find you all trussed up and slit you right open, yeah?” Alfie reaches into Tommy’s open shirt, using two fingers to draw a line from his bellybutton up his chest, brushing the bunched-up undershirt and only stopping when his fingertips ouch the skin warm golden chain wrapped around his throat. “Just like that. Nasty cut.”

“Yeah, well.” Tommy leans in a little, his cheek almost brushing Alfie’s, the perfume scent hot between them. “You’re not going to, are you?”

To make sure he doesn’t lose his precious balance and fall, Alfie tightens his grip on Tommy’s hips and thighs, like the self-sacrificing do-gooder he is. “No, I don’t think so.”

“So what now, then?” Tommy’s voice drops a little, softens, a hot little whisper against Alfie’s cheek.

“Well,” Alfie starts, deliberately nonchalant even as his hands wander up to squeeze Tommy’s waist, “I _was_ promised a present, poppet.” 

Tommy makes one of his greedy little sounds as he pushes in, mouth sweet and open for Alfie to fuck his tongue in. It’s messy, Tommy has to lean in and squeeze his thighs tightly around him to keep his balance and he’s dripping in a mix of whiskey and sex, perfume and sweat. Intoxicating.

When Alfie breaks the kiss, Tommy looks the part, too, flushed with glassy eyes and pink lips, looking just about ready to drool. Always a gentleman, Alfie makes to reach for the golden chains, but Tommy wiggles a little, which doesn’t do much when it comes to getting away, but really brings the point across that he’s flushed and sweet and half-dressed. “Leave them.” 

That gives Alfie pause. He raises a brow at Tommy, then reaches between them to brush the pad of his thumb over Tommy’s nipple to make him twitch and shiver. “What was that?”

And really, he just expected Tommy to kick at him. Maybe hiss a little, repeat himself, the usual. Instead, Tommy looks at him with his blown pupils and his pink mouth and whispers “ _Please_ leave them.”

It’s not what Alfie expected, but his cock throbs painfully. “Yeah, that’s right,” he says, distracted, as his hips fuck up against Tommy instinctively, making Tommy flutter his pretty lashes. And that’s just not fair, is it?

Alfie tips them, sending Tommy back into the sheets, moving in to kneel between his sprawled legs. While it wasn’t _him_ who got drugged by some Chanel-dripping dominatrix, he feels a tad feverish at the sight oof Tommy with his mess of gold and big eyes and flushed cheeks, can’t quite stop himself from lazily rolling his hips against Tommy’s arse. “You don’t think those places would come with lube, huh?”

The teeth of Tommy’s unzipped fly glitter enticingly and Alfie reaches in, finds Tommy’s cock straining against soaked briefs. The thought occurs that maybe, this lady ground against him and got him all messed up, and Alfie feels like he’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t get his cock wet in the next five minutes. 

Tommy doesn’t seem to be doing much better. He’s shaking, thighs trembling, trying to push into Alfie’s touch. When he opens his mouth, his words are slurred. “Check the bedside table.”

Alfie almost hadn’t expected an answer, so it takes him a moment to grasp what Tommy means. Before pulling back, however, he reaches for Tommy’s hips and slips his trousers down as far down as he can manage, trusting Tommy to take care of the rest. 

Thankfully, by the time he’s found the bottle (and really, either this dominatrix was kinkier than Alfie is willing to give her credit for, or those rats have a vaguely offensive idea of Alfie’s modus operandi), Tommy’s taken care of it alright. He’s kicked his trousers down as far as possible with his current position, dark fabric halfway down his thighs. It’s an incredibly sweet display of need and Alfie moves to help him get the trousers off the rest of the way, pushing them and his tight little briefs off in one go. 

After a moment of consideration, he leaves the shoes, figuring Tommy looks sweet like this, dark socks and the pearl button-glittering shirt falling open over his chest, shoe polish on the satin sheets and his bunched-up undershirt brushing against his nipples. Blush and gold and glittering eyes.

Overwhelmingly sweet, really. Alfie’s feeling a little dizzy with it, so to collect his thoughts he gives Tommy’s throbbing-hot cock a nice stroke, root to tip, feeling it twitch in his palm as Tommy mewls and yeah, that’s enough of that. 

Partly with regret, Alfie lets go of Tommy’s cock to take hold of his shoulder. It’s a shame to turn him around, but Alfie doesn’t want to put Tommy in a position where he’s forced to rest his whole weight on his bound arms. And if the gold around Tommy’s arms is an enticing little bonus, that’s his business. 

Tommy, the sweet thing, immediately arches his back for him, showing off the curve of his arse underneath the hem of his shirt and his pink-hard cock between his spread thighs. Alfie has to put a hand on his own cock, throbbing eagerly in uncomfortably tight pants, before he manages to slick up his fingers and slip them under the white cotton. When his fingertips brush Tommy’s hole, the little sweetheart makes a keening, desperate little noise.

Alfie has to bite his tongue. “Now what’s that?” He tries to keep his tone light as before, but his voice is much rougher, the effect Tommy with his gold and his cock and his trim little waist are having on him undeniable. “You already got fucked tonight, didn’t you? No need to be this greedy.”

He pushes a first finger against his hole and it slips in easily. Alfie swallows, his pulse loud in his ears. “See? Easy does it.” 

And really, he tries, but Tommy is so hot inside, soft and open. Before Alfie can stop himself, he’s got two fingers in. _Easy._ His head swims.

When he reaches for his fly, the soft jingle of the belt has Tommy shivering, dipping his spine, arching up. Pavlovian. Greed and whoring. 

Alfie’s hand has the slightest tremor, but he gets his trousers open, pooling around his hips. A feat, considering he can’t stop staring at his hand, now and then revealed when the hem of Tommy’s shirt slips with the roll of his hips. He scissors his fingers and Tommy _keens._

“Just do it.” His voice is slurred, but he’s trying. Alfie can appreciate that.

“Do what, Sweetie?” To be sweet, he twists his fingers, watches with an appreciative eye as Tommy tries to get the next sentence out, flushed cheeks, messy hair.

Another frustrated little sound, Tommy panting against the sheets, his hole sucking him in. “Fuck me.”

And that’s all it takes, really. 

Alfie planned on going slow, but the moment the tip of his cock slips past Tommy’s rim, he can’t stop himself, can’t stop before he’s buried in him to the hilt, one smooth stroke. Tommy moans, a desperate, overwhelmed sound, his shoes slipping on the sheets, thighs twitching. 

The polite thing would be to wait a moment, let Tommy get adjusted, but with the way he’s shivering and mewling, arching his back, there’s no chance of that happening. So Alfie fucks into him roughly, one hand fisted in Tommy’s messy dark hair, pulling his head back just enough to make Tommy whine. From this angle, he can’t see much of his gorgeous flush and his sparkling eyes, but the gold of his chains glitters and his shirt slips up a little to reveal the swell of his arse. Alfie watches breathlessly as Tommy tries to fuck himself back onto his cock, swaying dangerously in his eagerness.

Courteous as he is, he slips his hands down to rest on Tommy’s waist, partly to squeeze and bruise him a little, partly to stabilise him before he hurts himself in his eagerness. Stopped in his tracks and helpless, Tommy turns his head a little, pink mouth soft against satin, moaning as Alfie establishes a punishing rhythm. 

Rose petals and glittering chains around a pale throat. It’s too much to take in, too much entirely. Tommy’s so hot inside, clenching around him, mewling and drooling into the rumpled sheets as he rolls with every thrust, lashes fluttering. The last traces of Chanel mix with the scent of sweat, of sex, and Alfie knows he’s not going to last long.

He tightens his grip on Tommy’s hip and pulls him onto his cock with every thrust, making him howl and kick helplessly at the sheets, bound and held in place by Alfie, unable to do anything but take it. From here, it doesn’t take much longer. Tommy takes another three of those brutal thrusts, maybe four, and his voice breaks, moans trailing off into soft little whimpers as he comes. His hole ripples around Alfie’s cock and he’s melting, taking the next few brutal thrusts with dream-soft mewls.

Alfie’s orgasm hits him like a punch, blinds him with pleasure and all but cuts his strings. When he can see again, he’s draped across Tommy’s back, mouth against his neck, his hips still lazily grinding into his slick hole. It can’t be comfortable, not with Alfie’s weight on Tommy’s arms like that, but he doesn’t seem to mind, making broken little mewling noises whenever Alfie’s softening cock moves in him.

When his cock finally slips free, Alfie hisses, then more or less gracefully guides both of them down. He’s sweating through his shirt and his cock is uncomfortably wet. The satin-tacky sheets stick to Tommy’s cheek and he blinks, apparently not quite ready to talk just yet. 

Now, finally, Alfie reaches out and untangles the golden chains until they’re draped around Tommy’s throat and shoulders like a mess of necklaces.  
Usually, that’s really all he’d have to do. Tommy’s saved, he’s got the fuck he needs, it’s time to part ways. Instead, he gathers him up in his arms and kisses his lax mouth, pushes his tongue past his lips to taste his soft little mewls.

See, Tommy might be a greedy whore, but really, Alfie isn’t that much better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> This was inspired by a prompt on tumblr, and it’s an expanded version of my prompt fill, which you can find [here](https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/639415830064529408/prompt-5-alfietommy-love-your-writing).
> 
> For once, I don’t have too much to say. Can you imagine?  
> All I have it that the mystery lady is wearing Chanel no 5. Tommy is weak for Chanel due to the prestige of the brand alone, I will absolutely die on this hill. Also, I feel like he’s the type to fall for a gorgeous creature who has the confidence and elegance to wear that scent.
> 
> Also I just love Alfie talking shit about Tommy. Don’t get me wrong, please, he loves him very much and I hope I made that clear. This is probably pre-relationship, in a weird “fuckbuddy” phase? He’s certainly not jealous and doesn’t exactly act like he owns him, so all his slutshaming is loving in nature. If that didn’t translate, please please tell me so I can make adjustments. I know I talk shit about Tommy too but I genuinely don’t want to give the wrong idea here :’) This is all “you dumb whore (affectionate and kinky)” and that’s it
> 
> Oh!!!! Almost forgot – usually there should be some discussion of safewords and so on before a scene like that takes place but. Alas. 
> 
> Honestly, I missed writing porn for them and this was a ton of fun to do!! I hope you had fun reading it as well :’)


End file.
